There’s an Owl in the House!

Winged Inhabitations

Friends,

This week’s offering is a story about mythical shape changers, haunted houses and denizens of the dark. Mostly though it’s about owls.

If you missed last week’s post outlining my wild plans for this year you can read it here:

Many thanks to those who subscribed and continued with your subscription. This space wouldn’t exist without you and I’m delighted to have companions on the road.

I’m in the middle of next week’s story for which I’ve been on my travels, actually more of a mini-break as the place I visited is only a short drive away. I shall be continuing with mythical threads, writing about a local legendary figure who I’d never heard of until I started researching the remote village where I’ve been photographing castles, hill forts and very ancient trees. It’s a fascinating place and linked with the Robin Hood myth. Who knew that Robin didn’t inhabit Sherwood Forest, but was actually a borders lad (this may be true), and that Maid Marian was a succubus (this may not be true). All will be revealed next week!

The owls have been calling on my dusk walks of late and they insist they get a story of their own. They’re creatures of the edges, and edges is what this space is all about. So read on, if you will.

J

This is a story for paid subscribers. If you subscribe today an email will ping into your inbox with a download of my ebook Rima 1, a printable of one of my recent paintings, and a discount voucher for my online print shop. You’ll also be able to read the many stories in the archive . . . and make this writer very happy!

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An ancient house sits on a mound in the valley to the north of my home. It’s one of those places which reaches towards you as you pass it, something I’ve been doing for more than two decades. It’s a timber and stone structure, not quite a castle, not quite a house. Below it is the remains of a mote, just a pool now. There’s a stone beneath the watery surface, beneath that a little box, and inside it a dark spirit which once haunted this place in the form of a giant hound or a plague of stinging flies. So the story goes, a well known one in this part of the world. The house, Hergest Court, is better known as the place where the Red Book of Hergest was once housed in it’s ancient library of Welsh literature. It’s the perfect place for such a work, cloaked in its own mists and mysteries. I sometimes pass the house at night. I sometimes stop and listen to the owls in the surrounding woods, who continue to tell the old tales.